


leg warmers

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Dermatillomania, First Kiss, Jazz Club, M/M, implied new game +, p5r inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: “it’s an old belief that the right music can heal a heart”, goro says from beside him, so quiet that ren wonders if he’d said it at all. however, he continues. “the song is about fate, whether to succumb to its whims or to follow the truth.”
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	leg warmers

He learns about dermatillomania the night Goro invites him out.

“It’s compulsive”, the brunet had muttered, his hands folded tight in his lap. “It seemed too hot tonight for gloves and I’m—“, his fingers twitch and he starts to fiddle with his hair. “To be honest, I’m quite nervous. Thank you for coming with me”, he adds, oddly demure, his lips somewhere caught between a smile and a grimace as if he didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t want to go alone.” His fingers begin to tap at his iced tea, the cuticles all reddened and dry around his blunt nails. He’s dressed down tonight, in loose chino pants that might have once fit him and a crisp t-shirt tucked into his belt. His hair is a little curled from the humidity and Ren is quietly pleased at the soft flush colouring his skin. His lips are shiny and over-bitten, and he’s sure he’s never quite seen Goro Akechi so lifelike.

“I don’t mind”, Ren replies, looking over to the stage where a small crew was beginning to set up. A standing crowd started to gather but many retreated to their tables. “Are you a big fan of hers?” Goro tucks his fringe behind his ear and shifts uncomfortably; when Ren looks at him this close, he can see the unevenness of his skin and the dry patch on his nose. He hasn’t worn makeup tonight.

“I suppose I am”, Goro answers. His fingertip reaches his mouth for a fleeting moment before abruptly pulling away. His gaze follows the pointed lighting to the stage with a reverence that might be helpless. “My mother owned a few of her albums. I remember waking up some mornings and just laying in bed that little while longer to listen to her sing along in the kitchen.” He turns back to Ren with a false brightness. “Her talents are quite a wonder to see live—we’re quite fortunate for her to stop here of all places. I only saw her one other time when I was 15.”

“What, did you sneak out after curfew to see a jazz gig?”, Ren teases and Goro smiles small.

“If you could believe it.” The lights fade down to a glow and surrounding conversation quiets to a murmur. The softness of the venue seems to amplify in the warm, orange lighting and Ren feels awfully aware of how their knees bump under the table.

Goro doesn’t mind.

Two men take the stage to sit at their respective instruments before a woman in an emerald coloured dress takes the microphone. There is sparse applause, and then silence. Even the group of women in the corner who had been fanning themselves have stopped to watch, and the bartender leans over the counter with his chin in his hand and his rag over his shoulder. Goro is rapt with attention; more tense than Ren has ever seen him, and shaking so barely that Ren could have brushed it up to a shiver.

The woman begins to sing.

Ren reaches out and sets his hand on Goro’s forearm. It’s strange how it feels like crossing a line between them—he’s never even thought about Goro’s arms before. The times he’s seen them have been far and few between, more often than not being hidden under a suit sleeve or sweater, but looking at them now, setting his hand in the crook of his elbow, Ren wonders how something as small as this could feel as intimate as a whispered word. He hooks their ankles under the table and Goro doesn’t pull away.

The room swells with a force of emotion. It’s choking, almost. It fills the air with the same kind of claustrophobia cigarette smoke does and it gives Ren just enough air to survive but nothing else. Other occupants of the room sway their heads and tap their feet, some mouth along and swoon into their drinks while the rest clutch the edge of their seats—Ren just feels his heart race. Goro’s fingertips are red from pressing so hard into his own knees

“It’s an old belief that the right music can heal a heart”, Goro says from beside him, so quiet that Ren wonders if he’d said it at all. However, he continues. “The song is about fate, whether to succumb to its whims or to follow the truth.”

“Implying fate isn’t true.”

Goro spares him a look.

“Fate implies the presence of a greater being, like God, and of an ideal end. Whether that’s the right end is beyond everyone. If what we perceive as the truth is what we believe is right, then do we still follow fate?”

Goro’s face is covered in spots and beauty marks, Ren notices with a rush of affection. Two close together by the corner of his right eye, one on his left cheek, one on his right cheekbone... they’re scattered nicely. One on his chin skewed to the right, one in the dimple on his left, two above his left eyebrow just hidden by his fringe and so precisely placed that it looks like the tail of his eyebrow could be the frown of a face.

(One more, Ren thinks, in his lower lash line, on the right side).

“If you believe in it”, Ren replies.

“And if I believe in my truth?”, Goro counters. A man steps from behind the curtains and drones out a soft sound from his saxophone; the croon melting against the woman’s vocals and causing hush among the crowd. “I choose not to believe in fate the same way I choose to wait to be disproven at God’s existence”, Goro whispers. “Until fate proves itself to me, I will continue to deal with the hand I have been dealt and assume that the outcome of life is strictly decided by our own choices.”

“I believe in fate.” Goro’s smile is not kind but it seems genuine.

“Then I am jealous of your conviction”, he replies and turns to watch the rest of the show.

Ren does dream of him, sometimes.

“How surprised I was to see you again.”

Goro’s smile had been sweet and indifferent—not so charming that Ren might have immediately closed off, but close enough to beaming that Ren wanted to know why.

“I didn’t realise I’d made such a lasting impression.”

“I don’t believe that for a second”, the smile had stayed in place. “When I heard Shujin students were joining us today, I did wonder if I’d see you again. An interesting situation the world finds itself in, no? Vigilante thieves changing the hearts of the wicked. It’s almost like a fairytale.”

“You sounded a little smitten with them in your interview.”

Goro’s smile had hesitated. Twitched.

“That is not the case, I assure you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were”, Ren continued. “It can be fun to root for the unlikely hero sometimes.”

“And dangerous”, Goro had cut in. “Childhood glamour makes paints it as a harmless thing however a real life vigilante is a danger to the public.”

“Maybe we need a little childhood glamour to remind ourselves why we believe in what we do.”

It was the look Goro gave him then that Ren thinks about still.

“Your perspective is quite refreshing”, he’d said eventually. “I’m sure it’s because of my status, but I often find people don’t want to share their views with me if they don’t coincide with my own. That, or they just lie.”

“How do you know I’m not lying?” Goro laughed just a little.

“You could say I have a sixth sense for liars. If it’s all right with you, would you continue sharing your thoughts with me?”

“I’d love to”, Ren replied softly.

He looks at Goro now, who’s leaning forward in his seat like he can drag the music closer and further into his skin, where he might soak up its properties and leave the club a whole human being. It’s almost painful. The song ends, the audience claps, and Goro clamps his hand over Ren’s, where it’s still sat on his arm.

They don’t exchange words for the rest of the show.

* * *

“Who do you think I am?”, Goro asks carefully, and under the light of street lamps and food signs does he look so weary. “Sometimes you look at me strangely—like something I’ve said is disappointing or sad. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He stops them just outside the stairs down to the underground, lips tight and flat and skin a little wet. The heatwave was unrelenting, even towards midnight. “I don’t think you pity me, you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t allow you to pity me, so this is the only explanation I could think of. I remind you of someone else.” 

“You do”, Ren replies honestly, and tries to ease the pain threatening to wobble his voice. “But that isn’t why I spend time with you.”

“I imagine it was, at least in the beginning.” Goro views him through a skewed lens now, he can tell, and Ren doesn’t like the growing space between them. “Was he your friend?”

“No”, and the word gets stuck. “He wasn’t. Are you?”

“Am I your friend?”

“Yes.”

This makes Goro smile, but his eyes are narrowed and something about him tonight seems so tired.

“Yes that I’m your friend”, he says, “or yes, you’re asking if we’re friends?”

A car drives by and Ren instinctively steps away from the curb. Goro is watching him with a renewed attentiveness, and confessions want to stumble and stampede over Ren’s tongue.

He touches Goro’s cheek and likes the sticky feeling of a heat-flush. In the shadow of the building beside them, he ducks his head and swallows.

“Can I kiss you?”

Goro nods.

Goro tastes like the ice tea he didn’t finish drinking and he tastes like the inside of his cheek might be bleeding. Ren pushes him further into the dark, hands bracing either side of his face. Goro’s fingers clench the loops of his jeans and he tilts into the kiss; change your mind, Ren wants to breathe, stay with me. When they pull away, they don’t really pull away, and Ren decides he likes the feeling of Goro huffing over his lips. He stares at their feet and admires the bow Goro tied his laces in. He won’t forget this moment. He’ll make it last as long as he can.

Goro covers his face and laughs soundlessly. There are awful things to think at times like these. He thinks every single one, he tries to imagine saying every word, but can only lean his forehead against Ren’s heartbeat. There are the easy things to think about, too. Of the dead communal bathhouse with cattails growing through the cracks and empty bottles and crushed cigarettes that they have long since passed and the worn wire fence with cuts and holes along its length that Ren had ran a nail across, causing a sound like tk-tk-tk. They stand there for a long while.

“Ren”, he eventually says. Amamiya Ren, who he didn’t know like the back of his hand, who he’d met by a lake on an autumn day when the sky wasn’t as clear, and then met again, like fate, after an interview where the room was easily a cage. “I’m going to miss my train.” He pushes Ren a step back with a firm but gentle hand. “Walk me to my line.”

“Can I hold your hand?” There is nothing to lose now. Goro laughs again, pleased and pretty and with eyes sparkling. His palm is dry and covered in deep lines, stretching and arching and crossing over many, many times in a stitching manner. Ren notices a sunspot on his middle finger.

“You can hold my hand.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!
> 
> — tnevmucric.carrd.co


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